


Fever started long ago

by mediaville



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Confessions, Dubious Consent, Fever, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5701978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediaville/pseuds/mediaville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Stay." His brain is skipping backwards but his mouth is skipping forward. "Like, in this bed? With me."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The words hang in the air, somewhere in between their naked chests. Louis licks his lips, and a tiny crinkle appears between his eyebrows. "Why?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Does there have to be a reason for everything? Does everything have to be a debate? Why does Louis ask 'why?' and not 'why not?' Harry's already annoyed that he <i>wants</i> him to stay. "I'm ill," he says, sniffling for good measure. "I need supervision."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Louis hesitates, looking uncertain, and Harry doesn't like that look on him. "It's late," he says eventually. "You need your rest."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"We'll sleep," Harry promises, and as if on cue, he yawns. He is rather sleepy. "It will be restful."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>SPOILER: Styles gets his way. It's not restful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever started long ago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eleadore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/gifts).



> Part of an ongoing challenge [eleadore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/pseuds/eleadore) and I talked ourselves into. The prompt: temperature. Check out the fic she wrote for the same prompt [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5702023)!
> 
> Check out the rest of the fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2016).

The blur of tiny, neatly arranged red LED lights remind him of outdated movies about the future where everything is neon and floating. The lights dim, and Harry blinks, shaking his head quickly to clear it. He shifts his own car into park and watches Louis step out of his Audi. He's waving at Harry, so Harry raises one hand and waves back. 

Louis's mouth presses into a line. His breath is visible in the chilly winter air. Moments later, he's knocking on Harry's window. When Harry rolls it down, Louis just looks at him expectantly.

"Alright?" Harry asks, after a beat passes.

Louis raises his eyebrows and huffs out a small laugh. "Me? Brilliant, thanks for asking."

"Okay," Harry says slowly. His tongue feels funny. Louis looks jumpy and sharp. And beautiful. 

"Did you need something?"

Harry blinks again, eyeballs feeling dry and itchy. 

Louis looks up and around, sighing loudly. "Mate, if you're staying, pull in so I can close the gate."

He hadn't realized that he'd been idling right in the middle of Louis's drive. He hadn't really even realized that he'd been at Louis's house. They'd been--in Shoreditch earlier. A party or something that hadn't been much fun. 

He nods and pulls his car in alongside Louis's and kills the engine. The cold air from his open window feels good on his face. Especially when he closes his eyes and sinks down into his seat. 

"You going to have a kip in the car?"

Louis's voice is shrill, his expression incredulous. Maybe a bit annoyed. Well Harry can be annoyed as well. He'd been resting. 

"It's my car," he argues, shrugging. Louis hates it when he shrugs. Or used to hate it, whatever.

Still hates it.

Harry smiles to himself and closes his eyes again.

"Are you pissed? It's bloody brass monkeys out," Louis says, exasperated. "How much of that champagne did you have?"

Harry frowns. He doesn't remember champagne. In fact he's feeling rather thirsty, only he doesn't want anything fizzy. Coconut water would be brilliant. He tries to lick his lips but his tongue gets stuck to the roof of his mouth and makes a rather vulgar sucking noise.

"Christ," Louis says, pulling the sleeves of his jumper down over his wrists and shivering. "Suit yourself, I'm going in."

It's quiet for a long moment, just the sound of the wind rustling through bare branches. Louis has some really nice landscaping. Good shrubbery. Louis probably has Nelson do his garden. Or, is Nelson the one in America? Harry can picture him clearly in his mind, just the details of which, like, reality he belongs to is fuzzy.

The thump on the driver's side door startles him. It's just Louis, pulling open the door to scowl at Harry. "Go on," he says, gesturing at the drive as he presses his finger down on the button to raise the window. His fingers are very small, and nicely shaped. "Out of the car."

Harry stumbles a bit when he steps down from the Range Rover. "Look at you," Louis tsks. "Legless tosser. I've a right mind to let you freeze."

"I'm not pissed," Harry protests, even as he slings an arm around Louis's shoulders. 

Louis lets him lean, guides him indoors. "No?" he sounds doubtful as he deposits Harry on the couch. 

Harry shakes his head. It feels a bit spinny, even after he stops. 

Louis crosses his arms over his chest, little fingers peeking out from his jumper sleeves. "Why are you here, then?"

It's--a fair question. Harry tries to remember. "I just wanted to see what you were doing," he offers, even though it doesn't feel like the right answer.

"I was at the same place you were," Louis says with wide eyes. "Doing the same things you were doing, I reckon."

"Well, right," Harry says, dismissive. "But that was before."

"Before what?" 

"Before--now."

"Now," Louis says slowly. "It's two in the morning. I'm going to bed."

Bed sounds nice. "'Kay," Harry says. His voice is a bit hoarse, so he clears his throat. 

Louis huffs out a breath, shaking his head as he starts to turn away. He hesitates for a moment, then turns back, gives Harry a long look before taking a step closer. Tilts his head to peer at him. "Your colour's off, mate."

Harry looks down at himself, eyes snagging on a rip in his jeans. He shrugs, only this time it's not to annoy Louis. He feels a bit off, to be honest. 

"I could go for a brew," he says weakly. He's not sure when he got so tired, but yeah. Now that he thinks about it, he's knackered.

"Right," Louis says, "yeah." He looks uncomfortable for a moment before sighing and toeing off his shoes and kicking them towards the door. "I'll go put the kettle on; you take off that naff coat."

"You're naff," Harry shoots back, eyebrows pulling together. His coat is next season Gucci and anyway, he's cold and he doesn't want to take it off. He doesn't have to do everything Louis says. Louis isn't in charge of everything. 

He puts his feet on Louis's table and waits. 

He may actually doze off, because it feels like he's coming awake when Louis tugs at his clothes. "Good god, this thing is hideous," Louis mutters, pulling the coat off of Harry's shoulders. "You can't sit in your coat indoors, no wonder you're all flushed." He's talking to himself, voice quiet as if he's trying not to disturb Harry. 

Harry lets the comments about his coat pass because Louis doesn't know the first thing about style. Shame really.

"The fuck?" Louis's hands are patting at his chest, up towards his neck. "Why are you all damp? Is that _sweat_?"

Harry tries to bat him away, but he's tired, hasn't got full control of his limbs at the moment, and Louis is too quick, darting like a chipmunk to get a hand on Harry's forehead easily. "You're burning up." 

Harry slaps his hand away. "You're a chipmunk," he shoots back, defensive. 

"Think you've got a fever." Louis cups Harry's chin, tips his face up as if he can tell how he feels just by looking at him. 

He probably can. 

"Have you caught the lurgy and brought it over to my house?" Louis accuses. 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut to block him out. He doesn't want to talk anymore. 

"Yeah, alright," Louis says, softer now. "Let me bring your tea, and I'll fetch you some paracetamol."

Harry swats him away, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. Sometimes that happens when Louis is like this. Close. "Don't--don't do that," he grumbles. 

Louis raises an eyebrow at him. "You prefer Ribena?"

Harry shakes his head, and wow, that _hurts_. "Don't be nice to me," he says, groaning a bit. 

Louis's face breaks into a pleased grin. "Red Bull, then," he says with a wink. Harry glares at him as he pads off towards the kitchen. 

Harry stares after him, gaze helplessly glued to Louis's bum as he walks away. He lets his head loll against the back of the couch. Fuck, Louis has got such a gorgeous bum. But Louis has also got a life-sized statue of Spiderman in his dining room. He's such a knob. 

He can't even remember why he used to like Louis so much. Or why he still likes him so much.

He sits up, tries to clear his head. He should go--maybe they can just forget that Harry even came here tonight. He's not sure why he did; he'd just been driving out after that dull reception and kept driving, following Louis until he'd ended up here.

When he stands up, he's hit with a wave of dizziness. 

"Alright?" Louis is there, out of nowhere, gripping his arm.

Harry does his best to ignore how good he smells, or how strong his little body is. "What did you do with my boots?" he demands. "I need them."

Louis barks out a short laugh. "What for?" 

"To go outdoors?" Harry says. Maybe Louis has a fever. "I'm leaving."

Louis eyes him skeptically. "Are you having a laugh?" He gives Harry a tiny shove and he's too small for it to make a difference but somehow Harry's tumbling back down onto the couch, flailing. "You couldn't drive anywhere if you wanted to. You're completely buggered."

Harry slaps at his hands, but his body is mostly useless, clumsy and missing the mark. "I'll bugger you," he mutters.

"You wish," Louis says, cutting his eyes away. 

Harry gapes at him, before snapping, "Not anymore," a few beats too late.

Louis sighs, wiping at his face. "Okay, pal," he says wearily, "I think it's bedtime." He extends both arms in Harry's direction, waving his hands. "Up we go."

Bed does sound good, but he's more than capable of getting there on his own. He slaps Louis's hands away as he stumbles to his feet, head throbbing. 

"Alright?" Louis asks again. He's watching Harry like a hawk, so of course Harry fumbles a few steps. 

"Don't do that," he glares, shooing Louis away with both hands. 

"Don't do what?" Louis huffs. "Keep you from braining yourself?"

"Don't--don't baby me," he says. "I'm not a baby."

Louis's mouth twists into a smirk. "Alright, alright. Whatever you say," he placates. "Baby."

Harry takes the paracetamol just so Louis will shut up, and allows Louis to drag him upstairs to a guest room.

"Oh," Harry says, looking around. It's a blue room with a white king-sized bed, plenty of extra pillows and a soft, grey blanket folded up at the foot. "This is--nice," he admits begrudgingly. 

Louis snorts, not even bothering to look around. "Haven't had much time for home decor, I'm afraid. But it's got the basics; bed's soft--"

"That's not great for my back," Harry interjects. Louis should know that.

"Sheets are clean," Louis continues. "Loo's just through there."

"Doesn't the other room face the garden?"

Louis laughs, putting his hands on his hips. "I've been using that room for writing."

"Ooooh," Harry says, rolling his eyes a bit. "Suppose it's too full of creativity to sleep in? Notebooks full of willy references piled to the ceiling?" 

"More like it's a bloody mess," he says, frog-marching Harry towards the bed. 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, slumping back against Louis's chest. "What about your room?" 

"Oh, it's grand, which is why I sleep there," Louis says. "You'll be plenty comfortable in here." 

"You know me so well," Harry says flatly. Louis snorts and shakes his head. 

"Right," he claps his hands. "It's late and you're being an arsehole, so I'm going to bed. G'night, Harold," Louis calls over his shoulder. Harry sticks his tongue out at Louis's retreating back. 

Whatever, it's fine. He didn't want company anyway. He's genuinely knackered and the bed does actually look quite comfortable, the sheets all white and fresh and cool. 

He shucks his trousers, kicking them off to a corner messily. Tomorrow he'll be bothered that they're creased and crumpled but tonight there's a sort of freedom in being careless. His shirt is entirely less freeing, though. He tries a few times to get the buttons undone but the silk is slippery and his fingers feel like chorizo. Thick and--spicy? Untamed.

It's the endless loops and ribbons of his bolero necktie that finally defeat him. Harry slides down onto the bed, feeling a bit shaky. "Help," he whispers to the empty room.

A few beats pass and then Louis magically reappears in the doorway like a benevolent savior. 

"There's a toothbrush in there for you," he says, gesturing at the en suite. He seems to have fared better with his own clothes--he's still wearing his jeans but his jumper is gone and there's just-- a lot of skin. He's covering his belly with one hand, which is what he does when he's nervous. His hair is mussed and probably crunchy with product. His feet are bare, toes looking tanned and well-groomed against the dark wood floors. 

"Huh," Harry points out, "what happened to your chest hair?"

Louis looks confused, even as he rubs at his pec absently. "It was itchy, and anyway I was going to get--"

"I liked it," Harry says with a frown. Louis has just the right amount of body hair--just how Harry would have it if he could. 

Louis falters, mouth closing slowly. He gives Harry a long, considering look. "You need to get in bed, mate. You're really not looking well."

"M'stuck," Harry says, tugging fruitlessly at a silk ribbon.

Louis has the decency to cover his mouth before he laughs, not much more than a quick exhale through his nose. "You truly are one of a kind, Harry." It doesn't sound like a compliment. "Come here, then. Let's get you out of this mess."

Fashion is an art form, and Louis is no artist so it takes him more than one try to unravel the bolero. This close, Harry can see traces of styling gel clinging to Louis's hair. He blows out a breath just to ruffle Louis's fringe, making it fall down over one eye. "I like your hair like this," Harry muses. "Shaggy." 

"Thanks, mate," Louis says with a tilt of his head. He doesn't look up, instead ducks down, tongue between his teeth, like that helps him see the tiny buttons better. His eyelashes--are--very present.

Harry loses a minute or three to staring.

"Oh for--" Louis gripes when the next button puts up more of a fight, "what is this shirt made of? Milk?"

"It's silk crêpe," Harry says, voice barely more than a croak. He's feeling a little wobbly in the knees, might have to lean into Louis's chest to hold himself up.

"Bless you," Louis quips, then frowns, ducking closer to Harry's body. 

Harry brings both arms up to rest atop Louis's shoulders, wrists dangling behind him. It's not a hug. But it's not _not_ a hug, either. Louis's skin is smooth and soft, smelling faintly of cologne. 

Louis never used to wear cologne. Said it was for married blokes on the pull. Louis never used to wear socks either, or a wristwatch. Wait--Harry checks--he still doesn't wear a wristwatch. "Some things never change," Harry muses, resting his chin on Louis's head. "But some things do. Like cologne."

"Thank you, Socrates," Louis mutters. He seems to give up on the second button, swearing and moving down to the next one. "How much will it cost me to rip this piece of crap off of you?"

"Couple hundred quid," Harry rasps. He clears his throat. "Maybe a thousand."

"I'm good for it," Louis says, but remains undeterred. His hands keep bumping and sliding over Harry's heart.

Used to be they wouldn't be talking about Louis ripping Harry's clothes off as if it were a financial transaction, but Harry reckons there are new priorities now.

Eventually Louis gets enough of the buttons undone that they can pull the shirt over Harry's head. 

"Thank you," Harry manages, after Louis tosses the offending garment on the floor near Harry's crumpled trousers. 

Louis blinks up at him, looking rather caught off guard. "Welcome," he says after a moment, giving Harry a smile that makes his stomach flip like wet laundry. His eyes stick on Louis's lips and try as he might, he can't look away. Louis's smile seems to grow, but then he's rubbing at his mouth, wiping the grin away before patting at Harry's chest and taking a step back. "If that's all," he says, eyebrows raised like it was a question.

"It's not," Harry blurts. 

Louis narrows his eyes, but waits patiently. 

"Stay." His brain is skipping backwards but his mouth is skipping forward. "Like, in this bed? With me."

The words hang in the air, somewhere in between their naked chests. Louis licks his lips, and a tiny crinkle appears between his eyebrows. "Why?"

Does there have to be a reason for everything? Does everything have to be a debate? Why does Louis ask 'why?' and not 'why not?' Harry's already annoyed that he _wants_ him to stay. "I'm ill," he says, sniffling for good measure. "I need supervision."

Louis hesitates, looking uncertain, and Harry doesn't like that look on him. "It's late," he says eventually. "You need your rest."

"We'll sleep," Harry promises, and as if on cue, he yawns. He is rather sleepy. "It will be restful."

Louis looks skeptical, and for a moment Harry wants to pull on that thread, wants to know what Louis thinks they'll get up to, if not sleep. "Please?"

Maybe he has got a fever. Maybe that's why he shivers when Louis falters, eyes darting all over Harry's chest and stomach, down to his legs. 

"Yeah, alright," Louis finally agrees. He helps Harry under the covers, setting a glass of water and the bottle of paracetamol on the night table. He hesitates there for a moment, quiet, before tucking the soft grey blanket around Harry's shoulders. When Harry reaches out a grabby hand, Louis's mouth quirks up in a grin. "Need to clean my teeth," Louis murmurs. "Be right back."

Louis's bed--Louis's _guest_ bed--is like a cloud that smells like Louis. Louis's guests are very lucky. Harry burrows down under the blanket, trying to smother the chill in his bones while he waits for Louis.

* * *

When he opens his eyes next the room looks different--there's no light from the bedside lamp, the whites of the bed linens now cast blue in twilight. The dark walls make him feel like he's underwater in the deep sea, only his body is warm and cosy. He rolls around in it, cock plumped up and tender, arousal syrupy as it licks through him.

He buries his face in the pillow, breathing hotly as he shifts his hips. He smells something familiar, tobacco and something else, something sweeter. The sheets are cool against his warm body, creating a soft cocoon around his cock like a hundred velvety tongues. His muscles are lax and soupy as he fucks, rubbing his mouth mindlessly against the cotton.

His leg is caught up in a sheet, twisted around his ankle; his hair damply clinging to his neck but it all feels inexplicably good. His body is over-sensitive--he's too aware of the billions of points of contact between his skin and the soft cotton pillowcase, like each of the tiny hairs on his face are vibrating every time he breathes. He can feel sweat gathered high on his neck and low on his back when he arches his spine and curls his toes in the blankets.

The bed is marvelously responsive, rocking against him like a wave when the mattress shifts behind him.

He turns his head to find Louis watching him, eyes hooded and face flushed. He’s curled onto his side facing Harry, one hand tucked under his pillow and the other resting loosely between them. He watches as Louis licks his lips, mouth quirking up at the corners as he clears his throat. “Good dream?”

Harry’s cheeks burn, but Louis catching him does nothing to temper his arousal. He nods, rubbing his flushed cheek into the bedding. He manages to holds himself still as he slides his hand up the mattress and touches his finger to Louis's forearm, and then his wrist. Louis's skin is real and warm and _close_ and Harry’s not sure if he's dreaming or not but the feel of Louis is making everything better.

He feels tendons shifting under his fingertips--Louis's hand reshapes into a familiar gesture.

Harry mimics him, nudging his knuckles against Louis's and extending his thumb.

Louis’s eyes flicker down, catching on the slow rut of Harry’s hips. Louis's voice is hushed but Harry can still hear how it trembles. “Terrible manners,” he whispers, and the burn of humiliation makes Harry’s hips screw down hard, muscles of his arse clenching as he snugs his dick tight against the mattress.

He bites his lip, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He wants to pull the covers away and see if Louis is hard for him, needs to know what it does to Louis to see him like this. Warmth spreads through his body, makes the tips of his fingers and the arches of his feet tingle. Louis--does things to him. Makes him feel crazy things on a good day, but this, this is something else.

Louis swallows convulsively, tongue snaking out quickly to wet his lip. “You seem to really like the bed," he says, going for casual but Harry can hear the hitch in his breath. "Shall I leave the two of you alone?" 

The look on Louis's face makes Harry suck in a sharp breath, helplessly turned on. Louis looks flushed and-- _interested_ , and Harry's never found anything more addicting. He meets Louis's eye and shakes his head slowly. _Stay_ , he thinks as loudly as possible. 

Louis huffs out a quick breath, mouth quirking up at the corners. "Right, well, if you’re going to do that,” he murmurs after a beat passes, “turn over so you don’t mess the bed.”

Harry breathes in and out before he rolls over, cock heavy and fat as it bobs away from his body. He curls a hand around it, feeling it flex under Louis's attention. He feels drunk when he looks at Louis's face, thrilling when Louis doesn't look away.

Louis has always been fixated on Harry's cock, on the size and heft of it. Even when they were just boys, especially so then, he'd marvel at it whenever he caught Harry in the loo or coming from a shower. Back before Harry even knew what it meant he craved Louis's eyes on him, made sure to parade around pantsless as often as he could if it meant he'd catch Louis staring.

It's been so many years since then. They've changed, matured into completely different people. But through all of the years and the near misses and the things they’ve been to each other, this is the one thing neither of them can grow out of.

Louis swallows again, and Harry wants to taste his Adam's apple. His arm moves instinctively, curling behind Louis's neck to bring him close. His body shifts when he moves, air cool against the back of Harry's neck, his shoulders. He shivers, tries to bring Louis down to cover him but Louis resists.

"Harry," he whispers quietly. Warily. Harry can feel Louis's breath against his lips and he's never wanted anything more, nothing more than this, just a kiss, just one.

And then another.

And another.

Louis isn't kissing back, but he's responding, plush mouth parting for Harry with every soft kiss. Distantly, Harry can feel Louis's hand cupping his jaw, but it's not enough. It's never enough.

“Just kiss me," he pleads, pressing his lips to Louis's again and again, encouraged every time Louis sighs against his mouth. "Please."

Louis's fingers slip into the hair behind his ear, holding him still. Harry opens his mouth, mind reeling with things he can say, searching for the words that can convince Louis this is _right_ , this is exactly what they both need right now, but there's no need because Louis tilts his chin up and presses their mouths together, gentling Harry back down into the pillows and kissing him sweet and hot and tender.

Harry melts into it, parts his lips and slips his tongue out, starving for the familiar taste of Louis’s mouth. His face goes warm, his lips buzzing, his whole body going lax and pliant. Louis makes a muffled noise into his mouth and sucks gently on Harry's tongue.

It barely lasts, no more than a few seconds, but it's enough to get Harry fully hard, dick going fat and heavy in his hand.

“Don’t,” Harry whimpers when Louis pulls away and ducks his head, like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Don’t stop.”

Eventually he presses his lips to Harry's neck, breathing deep. “This is mad,” he says quietly. His voice is raw, making him sound exposed. Vulnerable. He exhales shakily. “What do you need?”

All Harry can think is _more more more_ , so he arches up and tangles his fingers in Louis’s hair to hold his mouth to the skin of his throat. He wants Louis’s mouth on him everywhere.

Harry sucks in a breath through his nose, cradling Louis’s head in his hands and groaning when Louis ducks down to kiss at his throat, then his chest. His mouth is wet and lush, making Harry’s skin prickle and his nipples tighten up into stiff points.

Louis nuzzles at him gently, tongue dipping out to taste the hollow of Harry’s throat. He whispers things, soft, unconscious words of encouragement that make Harry’s mind go fuzzy, make the head of his cock go slick against his fingertips. He’s so turned on he feels weak, his body going looser and looser with each sweet press of Louis’s mouth.

Harry cries out when Louis kisses around his nipple, shifting so that it slides against Louis’s mouth. Louis moans quietly, a humming buzz that lights Harry up when Louis sucks at him with just enough pressure and warm, wet tongue to make Harry delirious with pleasure. On a given day Harry likes having his nipples played with, has always loved the attention he's gotten from having an extra set, but tonight it's even more intense, the nerves in his nipples seem to be connected straight to his cock. 

He wonders if he's having the same reaction as nursing mothers, where the feel of having their breasts suckled forces orgasm-like contractions. He feels like he could come just from Louis sucking at him like this. Each pulsing suck twists him up more, bringing him closer and closer until he’s kicking his heel out and moaning loudly.

Harry loosens his grip on his cock, stripping it light and quick, barely needing anything more than the feeling of Louis’s mouth on him, the smell of their sweat soaking the sheets. Nobody else knows what Harry needs like Louis does. Perfect, perfect Louis.

He comes with his teeth sunk into his own bicep, keening, the intense pulse of his orgasm emptying his brain until all he can feel is the good feeling in his dick, come beating out of him to match his heartbeat.

“That’s it,” Louis says, stroking Harry’s sweaty skin, watching rapt as come oozes down onto Harry’s hip. He clings to Louis, pressing his face into Louis’s hair and breathing deep. Louis pets him through it as Harry comes down, skin buzzing and ears pounding.

Too soon, Louis is pulling away, shaking his head like he's trying to clear it. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Right," he says with a shaky laugh. He looks down at Harry, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment before glancing down, gaze catching on the puddle of come in Harry’s navel. Louis exhales loudly and looks away, running a hand through his messy fringe. “Let’s get you sorted," he says. His hands tremble as he tugs his vest over his head and uses it to wipe up the mess.

Harry protests lazily--no sense cleaning up when they’re not even finished yet--but when he tries to pull Louis down on top of him, Louis just sighs.

“Get some sleep, Harry.”

"What?" Harry asks, confused. They’d just gotten started? He frowns, too lethargic and come-stupid to get fully upset about it. ”Why?” he says with a yawn.

"Well, for one, you're sleepy," Louis says, amused. 

He turns to Louis, giving him a considering look. "You made me come just so I would fall asleep."

Louis presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. He shakes his head and lies back down on his side of the bed, slipping his hand back under the pillow, eyes never leaving Harry's. "You're ill," he says softly. "And I'm--" He trails off, chewing on his lips like he doesn't want to say any more.

He's being stupid. They're both stupid.

"You're an idiot," Harry mutters, frustrated and still turned on.

Louis blinks at him, eyes dropping down to Harry's mouth, then his chest. "I am," he agrees as his eyes slide lower, sounding hoarse.

Harry's tips his head to the side, ready to argue the point further but he loses his words when he sees the hot look in Louis's eyes. He reaches out to touch but Louis catches his hand, curling his fingers around Harry's, lacing them together. His thumb rubs circles into Harry’s knuckle.

Harry rolls onto his side, facing him. They look at each other for a long moment and don’t talk. Harry’s feeling a bit dazed but his skin is still thrumming with want.

“You’re so fit,” he whispers, although this is hardly a secret. “Like, really handsome.”

Louis’s mouth quirks up in a helpless smile.

Harry likes the way being honest makes him feel. It’s very freeing to just say what he’s thinking to Louis, rather than dance around it. This is so much easier.

“I want to touch you,” he says, eyes never leaving Louis’s. “Want you to fuck me. I miss it,” he pauses to swallow, throat dry. “You.”

Louis drops his head, squeezing his hand and huffing out a shaky breath. “Harry,” he breathes, overwhelmed. It doesn't sound like no. Louis makes him dizzy from how he’s so close and still feels so out of reach.

Louis takes a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. “That’s the fever--”

“No,” Harry’s shaking his head before he even finishes. “It’s you. Even after all of this time," Harry says, insistent. "All of these people. Everything I’ve done and it's just--still you."

Louis is speechless. Harry doesn’t think, can’t think. He slips his free hand into Louis’s hair, hauling himself up and shifting closer so that he’s hovering over Louis, close enough to kiss him. “How is it so easy for you?” he wonders, troubled. "How can you just _lie_ there when I'm--" Harry swallows down the sudden lump in his throat, stomach going tight and uneasy. "When I'm fucking dying for you to just--"

Louis makes a frustrated noise and surges up, cutting him off with a hot, lingering kiss.

Harry groans and kisses back hungrily, going easily when Louis pulls him on top of him. He licks Louis’s mouth open as he rolls him onto his back and slides a knee in between Louis’s legs, moaning when he feels the hot, hard press of Louis’s prick against his thigh.

Louis clings to his shoulders, brows furrowed like he’s in pain even as he kisses Harry breathless. He doesn't understand why Louis spends so much time fighting this when it's so bloody good. His spine feels like lava, his pulse like lightning. "Don't you miss this?" he says, pressing against Louis’s dick with his leg. "Don't you miss me?"

Louis just kisses him harder, like if he works Harry's mouth well enough he'll distract him from the searing ache in his chest. It's a good plan--his mouth leaves Harry weak and pliant, skin buzzing everywhere Louis touches him: his jaw, his hair, his neck.

He fumbles a hand down and slips it inside Louis’s pants, just wanting to hold him while they kiss. ”Jesus, Harry," he hisses, body jackknifing with tension.

"Beautiful," Harry breathes, the feel of Louis’s dick fat in his hand lighting him up inside. Louis bites his lip and looks up at Harry, breathing out slowly. He can't understand why Louis is taking his time, why Louis isn't burning up from the inside like Harry. "You make me crazy," he mumbles, feeling oddly hurt. "Why don't you want--"

This time, when Louis curls up to kiss him, he shoves Harry over onto his back, knocking his hand away and flipping them.

“You’re out of your mind," Louis says shakily. He sounds unsteady. Affected. “You don’t know what you want.” 

"And you do?" Harry wonders, breathless.

Louis shakes his head and laughs brokenly, conceding the point. Their gazes catch and hold for a long moment before Louis ducks down again, tentatively this time. When Harry snags their mouths together Louis is all in, kissing him determined, taking Harry's breath away, making him forget what he'd been saying.

His skin is on fire. It feels so good when Louis drops down, pressing their bodies together. Harry’s dick is still flushed and tender from coming, and the stiff, hot press of Louis’s makes him shudder with want. Louis is hard, really fucking hard, and the awareness is electrifying, makes Harry spread his legs and pull him in by his arse, shoving his pants down in the process.

"Easy," Louis sighs brokenly into his mouth, like anything between them ever is.

"Don't want easy," Harry argues, hips jolting up to fuck against Louis’s tight, strong body. He can barely think, but this much is clear. "Want you.” He punctuates the statement by spreading his legs wider, hitching his hips up so that the tip of Louis’s dick slips down between his arsecheeks. He hooks his ankles together behind Louis’s back and grinds up, mindless with how good it feels.

Louis sucks in a loud breath and groans, then ducks down and sinks his teeth into the meat of Harry's shoulder. His hips punch down fast, fitting his dick so sweetly against Harry’s arse.

Harry digs his fingers into Louis’s arse, trying to guide him to do it again. “Yes. Like that.”

Louis doesn't--instead he pulls away, swearing softly. His skin is damp with sweat, his hands shaking as he pins Harry’s arms down over his head.

"Louis, please," he whines, arching up against him. “Just--do something.”

Louis shivers, but then he's nodding and whispering, “Yeah, okay,” and then he shifts them onto their sides, curling his body around behind Harry’s to get a better angle. He spits in his hand, curls it around Harry's dick and pulls, a long, sweet drag that makes Harry grunt, makes his cock fatten all the way up so fast Harry can barely breathe.

Harry's head drops forward, muscles contracting at the feel of Louis's hand on him. "Shit," he gasps, starbursts of sensation zinging through him. "That's so good." He catches Louis's wrist with his hand, unsure if he wants him to speed up or drag it out. He squeezes his legs together, trapping Louis’s hot cock there, feeling how it’s already slippery with precome. Harry’s toes curl in the rumpled bedding. "Why is it always so good with you?"

Louis bites him again, lighting Harry up and making him cry out. His grip is sure and firm now, playing Harry's cock with long, slippery, twisting strokes.

God, but Harry wants to get fucked. He's so easy for Louis, goes belly up for him so fast. That doesn't bother him, not really. He just needs to know he's not alone in this.

"Is it like that for you?" he needs to know, sliding a hand up into Louis’s hair and tugging him closer. "Is it better with me?"

Louis grunts, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder. His hips jump against Harry's arse, grinding against him for the briefest of moments. He breathes out, shuddery, mouthing his response into Harry's skin. “Always," he confesses, tongue flickering out to lap at Harry's sweaty nape.

The validation is electric, thrilling through Harry's body and making him want more. "Better than with anyone else?"

Louis nods jerkily, rocking his hips against Harry like he couldn't stop if he wanted to. Like he doesn't even want to. His hand speeds up, slick with Harry's precome now, pushing Harry closer and closer to the edge.

Harry tugs on his hair, pulls hard. He wants Louis to bite him again, thinks he'll come if he does. "Yeah?" he presses, needing to hear Louis say it. He can't get enough of Louis. There's no end to this in sight. "The best?"

He's teetering on the edge, every nerve in his body screaming for him to come but he needs this first. "Louis--"

"Christ, _yes_ ," Louis grits out. "You're the best I've ever had. That I'm ever going to have." Harry's eyes flutter closed, breath catching in his lungs. Louis hitches his leg up, forcing Harry's thighs to part around his hips so he can fuck against him harder. Better. And then Louis's bare cock is sliding hot and hard in between Harry's legs, nudging the sensitive patch of skin behind his balls. "That what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes," Harry hisses, clenching his thighs and writhing in Louis's arms as he feels the beginnings of another orgasm start to pull him under. He can't seem to control himself, mindless as his hips pump into Louis’s fist with a jerky, disjointed rhythm. Louis presses closer, murmurs appreciatively, coaxing it out of him.

It’s when the flared head of Louis’s cock snags against Harry’s hole that he starts to shoot off, hard pulses of thick come clinging to Louis' fist and dribbling onto his belly. It's an intense come--pulling up through his spine and wracking his body with aftershocks. Louis's hips still, his other hand stroking Harry's hair away from his face. His fingers are trembling.

Harry loses some time, but the hot drag of Louis’s cock between his legs makes him come around soon enough. He slips a hand down in between his own legs to trap the velvety crown of there, pressing it firmly against his perineum.

“Oh god," Louis gasps, cock flexing when Harry squeezes his thighs tight around him. A bitten-off whine escapes him as he buries his face in Harry's hair. “I can’t--I have to--” he pants before pressing his hips back into Harry's arse again and again. Harry can't help but melt into it, spine bowing to make it better for Louis. He's come-stupid and dazed but he needs this to be good Louis more than anything.

“Want you to," Harry slurs, twisting his fingers harder in Louis's hair. He's never in his life wanted someone to fuck him more, can feel his balls throbbing like maybe if he thinks too much about Louis's cock in his arse, he'll get hard again. “All over me."

Louis's hand comes up to silence him, fingers fumbling against Harry's mouth, still sticky with come. Harry sucks them idly, relishing the taste of himself on Louis's skin. A beat later and Louis is biting his moans into Harry’s neck, a rush of wet, thick come slicking up his thighs.

Harry's eyes close and he hums contentedly, dozing off as Louis nuzzles against the nape of his neck and whispers praise as he slides through the creamy mess between them.

* * *

His head aches in the morning, the sunlight too bright against the white bed. His body aches, too, bones creaking when he stretches out in the bed and rolls onto his stomach.

Louis isn't there. 

Harry buries his face in the pillow, refusing to acknowledge the sting of disappointment that prickles in his belly. It's not like he expected anything different, it's more that the room feels strange, and Harry feels strange, and Louis is familiar and he wants that. 

He still feels disoriented and fuzzy-headed, but at least he's not shivering or sweating anymore. He gives himself a few more minutes to burrow in the sheets before he clambers out of bed and stumbles to the loo for a wee and to clean his teeth. 

He decides to shower after he catches his reflection in the mirror--his hair is wrecked and he's got dark lovebites mottling his skin. The dried come clinging to the hair on his legs actually makes him blush. He scrubs at it while he bathes, ignoring how his cock feels sensitive and tender, and how the backs of his thighs burn.

There's nothing appealing about putting on last night's party clothes, so Harry wilts back into the messy bed, breathing in deeply to try to catch the smell of them, like he needs some sort of proof that last night even happened. He's still feeling run down, so he closes his eyes even though he knows he won't be able to sleep.

There's a soft knock on the door and then Louis is there, looking small and uncertain in a fresh t-shirt and basketball shorts. His hair is fluffy and soft. He's wearing glasses. "Heard the shower," he says, mouth quirking up at the corners. "How are you feeling?"

Harry is feeling very naked. "Alright," he says, surprised by the roughness of his own voice. He clears his throat and props himself up a little, resting on his elbows. Doesn't bother covering himself. If he's honest, he _wants_ Louis's eyes on him, even now. Even more, now. 

Louis takes a deep breath and nods, looking fidgety. "Oh," he says, eyes widening. "Hang on." 

He's gone for less than a minute, a bit breathless when he returns carrying a tray with tea, juice, and a plate of toast. Harry quirks an eyebrow at the spread, biting back the urge to ask why there's no flower. "Made you some brekkie," Louis says with a nervous laugh. 

"Thanks," Harry says, sitting up properly. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as Louis fusses around him, piling pillows behind Harry's back to make him comfortable. 

The juice is good, sweet and cold as Harry washes down another dose of paracetamol. "S'good," Harry says, giving Louis a tentative smile as he takes a bite of the toast. 

"Yeah?" Louis is idling by the foot of the bed, clearly at a loss for what to do with himself. There's no place for him to sit if he doesn't want to get on the bed, and he clearly doesn't, so Harry lets him stand there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Be good to get some food in you, I reckon."

Harry nods as he chews and swallows and takes a sip of his tea. He clears his throat again before saying, "Yeah. I could murder a whole box of Hot Pockets right now."

Louis laughs lightly, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at Harry as he takes another bite of toast. "Burnt toast not doing it for you?"

Crumbs spray everywhere when Harry huffs out a surprised laugh, and Louis laughs, too, equally surprised at Harry's reaction. "Oi!" he complains, "you're making a complete mess of me bed."

Harry wipes his mouth and snorts indelicately as Louis slaps the charred toast crumbs off of the white sheets, leaving tiny black streaks on the crisp cotton. "Didn't bother you before," Harry says, heart pounding against his ribs. 

Louis's shoulder slump. He's blushing but he looks relieved that Harry's brought it up. "Nothing in it for me this time," he says easily, and if Harry didn't know him like he does he'd think last night didn't mean much to Louis. He does know him though, and while he can't fully understand why Louis is bringing him breakfast in bed, he knows it's not for lack of caring. 

"I'm sorry," Harry says, trying like hell to keep a serious expression on his face. "But that is absolutely the worst toast I've had in my life."

Louis barks out a laugh and slaps Harry hard on the thigh after he tosses the offending toast back on the tray. "See if I ever make you breakfast again."

Their eyes meet and Harry's stomach flutters when he sees the way Louis is looking at him. The mood doesn't feel tense anymore, but it's not exactly comfortable either. There's something there, something sparking between them, something Harry had been afraid was long gone. "Okay, but seriously," Harry says with a grin, nudging at Louis's hand with his leg. "Can you make me some Hot Pockets?"

Louis laughs again, eyes crinkling as he does. "Look who's all talk and no trousers," he chuckles, shoving Harry's legs aside so that he can sit at the foot of the bed. He leaves a hand on Harry's ankle. "You already look like you're going to vom everywhere and I'm not cleaning up after you."

Harry likes how Louis is touching him, smiling at him, soft and fond. He stretches both legs out long and wiggles his toes in Louis's lap, hoping Louis notices how his nipples have perked up in the cool air con. "Hot Pockets or I'll starve," he whinges, nudging Louis's hip with one foot. 

Louis just smiles and the two of them watch each other quietly for a moment. Eventually Louis breaks like Harry knew he would. 

"Right," he groans, laughing softly. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

They end up tucked in on Louis's couch watching football, Harry still shamelessly naked beneath a soft blanket, curled into the crook of Louis's arm.

There's a surreal quality to the whole day, the easy way Louis laughs and touches his neck when Harry makes a joke seeming familiar and foreign at the same time. He's missed Louis, misses him all the time. Maybe that's why he'd ended up driving here, propelled by the brand of loneliness that only hits him when he's feeling particularly run-down. 

He likes the way Louis looks after him, checking to make sure he's warm enough, or that he doesn't want another Dr Pepper. It's addictive and heady, makes him wish he'd fall ill more often. 

He's quiet long enough that Louis must think he's fallen asleep. He slips his arm out from around Harry's shoulders to clear the takeaway containers from the table. Harry's eyes follow him to and from the kitchen, watching as he sets a cool bottle of water down on the floor near Harry's feet. 

"I don't regret it," Harry blurts out, wiggling out from under his blanket. His voice is nothing more than a low rasp, scratchy and hoarse, but Louis hears him.

He's stopped in his tracks, staring at Harry for a long moment. Eventually he tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. "The Hot Pockets, you mean?" He sits back down next to Harry, sliding his arm back around Harry's shoulders.

"Any of it," Harry clarifies, fascinated with how Louis ducks his head, biting back a grin. 

"Yeah, well," he says, giving Harry a small, private smile. "It's early yet, love. Let's see how you feel tonight."

The implication that he's staying another night makes Harry's stomach go warm and good-funny. "Okay," he says with a shrug as he burrows into Louis's chest. He's not likely to feel any differently tonight than he's felt for all the nights before this one, but for now he's content to close his eyes and let Louis stroke his hair until he falls asleep. 

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Say hi or suggest new prompts on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mediaville) and [reblog](http://mediaville.tumblr.com/post/137132082988/fic-fever-started-long-ago) if you liked this fic.


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